


The Minister's Daughter

by The_Inebriated_Literary_Virtuoso



Series: The Minister's Black Veil Series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Big Brother Mycroft, F/M, Gen, Marriage Proposal, Minor Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes, Moriarty Is A Dick, Mycroft's Meddling, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Regency Romance, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:59:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Inebriated_Literary_Virtuoso/pseuds/The_Inebriated_Literary_Virtuoso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second installment in the Minister's Black Veil series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Asking For Too Much

“All that I am wondering is why you simply cannot accept my proposal, Ms. Hooper.”

The woman in question had taken to avoiding Mr. Holmes’ constant nagging by fixing tea. For the past two weeks their morning began with his marriage proposal and Molly Hooper had yet to discuss what would help in the case of their courtship. The day after Sherlock Holmes had inappropriately kissed her he formally asked to court her and she had said yes. But the problem that had arisen was that Sherlock automatically took that as a sign of ascent to marriage. He could not have been more wrong.

Today had been the last straw as she forcefully put down her tea cup.

“Sherlock, enough! I cannot and will not accept that proposal when you not only do not have a ring, but just as well have not even gone through the motions of proposing to someone.”

Sherlock frowned. “It is a ring you worry about?”

Molly sighed. “No, I worry that there will be no tangible evidence that we belong to each other.”

Sherlock nodded. “And what of the other things you mentioned?”

She grinned. “Those shall be up to you to figure out.”

Sherlock and Molly returned to London to find that the boys had gotten on just fine in their absence. Jeremiah and Jacob had been disappointed to find that they were not engaged, but both were ecstatic that they had begun a courtship. When they arrived Mrs. Hudson had been fawning over the boys and when she heard about their courtship she, just as well as the boys were overjoyed with the news.

“Finally!” Jeremy had said upon learning about the news.

Jacob nodded. “It’s been something to be expected for a long time now.”

“Oh yes, dears! Positively delightful, you know, Sherlock here has been alone for far too long!” She said as she bustled out to give the family a bit of privacy.

When Molly and Jacob and Jonathan had been out Sherlock had asked Jeremiah for counsel.

“Your mother wishes that I go to all proper lengths to persuade her that marriage is what is best for our family. I have never wasted my intellect on banalities such as that. so, I am afraid that I am in need of your assistance.”

Jeremiah laughed loudly as Sherlock towered over his with a grimace. The grimace lost its affect when Sherlock realized that Jeremiah only two inches shorter.

Jeremiah smiled.

“Start by minding Jonathan. It shows a sense of responsibility, plus he missed you.”

Sherlock a bit taken aback. “He has?”

Jeremiah nodded. “Despite what you like to think, you’ve lost your edge over the years. Jonathan truly enjoys you. We all do.”

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. “A decade ago I would have scoffed at all of this; the courting, the children, the parenting, the proposal. How things have certainly changed.”

Jeremiah smiled at him. “It’s better this way. You wouldn’t have been content.”

Sherlock got up to look out the window at Molly walking down the street, holding the hands of her precious sons and laughing.

“No, I certainly wouldn’t have been.”  
When midnight came and Jonathan’s night terrors came he began to scream in fright.

Molly got up to go appease the crying boy in his bed but as she entered the threshold she saw Sherlock kneeling beside the bed and running his hands through Jonathan’s curls.

“What do I do if the nightmares scare me?” Jonathan asked softly.

Sherlock looked at him. “Do you recall what we practiced two summers ago?”

Jon nodded in agreement. “The mind palace.”

Sherlock nodded. “Go there. Sift through some new information you learned these past weeks, and when you’re done close your eyes. You will sleep perfectly.”

Jon pulled the covers up and looked at Sherlock. “Thank you, daddy.”

Sherlock kissed his forehead and stood and only then did Molly move out of the line of sight.

She was standing a little ways off in the corridor when he looked at her.

“I went to him so that you did not have to, yet you still get out of bed. You are simply impossible, Molly Hooper.”

She gave a soft chuckle, still in shock. “Yes, I suppose. But why did you go? Jonathan is my responsibility.”

He sighed and began to pad slowly to his room. “You still don’t understand.”

She frowned at him. “What?”

He kept his face out of her line of sight. “That they are mine as well. They are just as much my children as they are yours.”

“Oh.” was all she said to his small confession.

As he walked away slowly, seeming to slip away like the shadows, she stood there and was more than satisfied at the change in his actions. She went to bed and smiled to herself.

Molly Hooper woke to harsh whispers in the living room below her. She walked softly and was by the staircase when she heard the voices clearly.

“Surely you cannot keep up with this nonsense, Sherlock!”

“Nonsense? Mycroft it was you who suggested I settled down to have a family, and I simply doing at you told me.”

“You have completely disregarded that statement and done quite the opposite! Molly Hooper is-”

“A wonderful mother and brilliant woman!”

“She’s the daughter of a pastor, Sherlock! She is of seven and twenty years with no prospects! I have every reason to believe she is looking for an advantageous marriage to benefit her sons.”

“Mycroft, you dolt! I love the children as much as she does and they would not have been looking for benefits when they stayed every summer for eight years. Surely you cannot be that much of an idiot from the last time I saw you. Must be the sweets you seem to have no control over eating.”

“Sherlock now is not a time to be jesting. This is a serious problem! You could be manipulated!”

“What is a serious problem is that you are still here, Mycroft.”

“Listen to me, you idiot. I know what this about.”

“Oh do you?”

“The woman.”

“Now stop it right there.”

“Stop what? We both know the only reason you are after Ms. Hooper is because she is a desperate woman who happens to love you.”

“Mind your tongue, Mycroft. Or I will mind it for you.”

“Surely. But I still stand correct. Ms. Hooper is only so attractive to you because she is nothing like the woman.”

“And that is truly so terrible?”

“I worry what it will do to you when she leaves.”

“Tell me, Mycroft, having never met this woman, knowing only the basic information, tell me how you can make such a firm statement.”

“I know human nature much better than you, Sherlock. Ms. Hooper-”

At that moment Molly stepped down the staircase. Clad only in her dressing gown but still completely fierce, Sherlock loved her and was reminded once more why.

“Can speak for herself, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft looked to be surprised by her interjection. “Ms. Hooper, I-”

“First of all, how dare you insinuate in any degree that my boys are any type of the devious sort?! They are honest boys as I have raised them to be such and any deceptive traits they have learned from your brother!”

“Ms. Hooper, you misunderstand-”

“No, Mr. Holmes, you seem to misunderstand. I am not of regal descent or royal blood but I am an honest and trustful woman. Which is more than I can for the whole of London! Yourself included. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, do you always make crass and ignorant assumptions of people you barely know?”

Mycroft looked to Sherlock for help, who only smirked with pride.

Molly tapped her foot impatiently. “Have you lost the ability to talk, Mr. Holmes? For surely that can’t be true as just a moment ago you had every negative word to speak of my family.”

Mycroft grimaced in what could only be described as pain. “I have not, Ms. Hooper. I sincerely apologize.”

She nodded. “That means nothing coming from such a dishonourable man who could not say such things to me. I would like you to remember that in future situations if you have any ill words to speak to my family I would like you tell them to me. It is your responsibility to survive the backlash of your own rude opinions.”

Mycroft walked past her swiftly without a word, and Sherlock simply stood grinning at her.

When they both heard the door to 221B finally slam close Sherlock reach to give her a hug and swung her around in joy.

“That was brilliant! I have never in all my days seen Mycroft speechless!”

Molly just smiled. “It was nothing.”

Sherlock gave her a kiss on the cheek. “It was brilliance, Molly Hooper.”

They blushed and moved apart right as the children walked down the stairs.

“Who was that?” Jacob asked.

Sherlock sneered in the direction of the doorway. “Mycroft.”

Jeremiah sighed. “The usual arguments I suppose?”

Sherlock nodded as Molly went up to wake up Jonathan. “I shall one day draw a line and surely murder him.”

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “He made the usual quips about Molly Hooper?”

Sherlock nodded.

Jeremiah frowned along with Jacob. “It is good he comes when we are not around or awake. Surely he would have had his opinions handed to him in kind.”

Molly came down with Jonathan hanging on her back and Sherlock smiled warmly at them. She had been surprised by his smile in her direction but she smiled back softly. He watched the sun hit her eyes and her hair flowed down her back and Sherlock looked around at the children as they looked up at him with wide expectant eyes that displayed their utter devotion to him. To him; a man he was so sure would never deserve happiness after years of unrepentant sociopathy. It had been a firm belief of his for many years before meeting Parson Hooper that he would have died alone, that he would have lived a life of solitude, completely unaware of the instrinsic need inside of him to feel wanted and loved. It was a place he had dreamed of only in his mind palace and even then the door to that alternate reality had remained tightly shut for many years until Molly Hooper had come and so had the children, in a whirlwind of breathless delight.

Molly took his hand and led him to the kitchen with the boys following and Jonathan chatting happily. Sherlock Holmes looked at Molly Hooper laughing happily next to him and he wanted nothing more than to have her for his wife.

* * *

 

 

 

Jeremiah was not sure if it had been the years of waiting or the constant reminder, but he had slowly begun to lose patience with his father and mother. they had gotten closer because of Mycroft and Jeremiah had figured that perhaps to have his help to do that again would not be so terrible.

He walked along the street lined with posh houses and knocked on the door indicated on his sheet of paper.

A relatively young woman answered the door and led him to the parlor of a grand house. Mycroft was seated by the fire, with a tumbler full of whiskey. Jeremiah sat quietly next to him.

“We all heard you had paid a visit to Sherlock this morning.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “If you are here to protect your sister’s honour I shall tell you that Ms. Hooper is very capable of holding her own. It is no wonder she is capable of standing against my brother.”

Jeremiah nodded. “I am not here for that.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Then do you come here for, Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah stared at the fire directly until he turned slowly to Mycroft. “I sincerely offer that you be my uncle.”

Mycroft almost spat out his whiskey. “Sure you are inebriated.”

Jeremiah nodded. “I am not. I simply believe that you should be a part of a family now.”

Mycroft snorted. “What my brother and your sister have is a scandal, nothing more. He is the talk of all social circles in London.”

Jeremiah sighed. “That should not matter. You of all people know that is only as important as you allow it to be in the eyes of your opponents.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “It is a simple tactic Sherlock taught me. But I digress, we want you to be a part of our family.”

Mycroft took another swig. “I am not interested.

“Why is that?”

“Because I am much too busy and have many things to be done. This country cannot run itself.”

Jeremiah  took hold of Mycroft’s loose hand and looked him directly in the eye.

“You are getting old, you may or may not have any familial ties besides Sherlock. Let us help you.”

Mycroft simply stared at his hand. “I am not in the need to keep company and entertain the same ridiculous dream my brother has.”

Jeremiah stood in indignation. “Your brother will die with four people surrounding his grave. He will have something to show for this life. your brilliance is only temporary, Mycroft.”

“That will be all.” Mycroft said, as Jeremiah began to get escorted out of the house.

**Mycroft put his head in his hands.**


	2. Somewhere Only We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based from the song Somewhere only we know because I am trash and love that song. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes had been raised by his brother. It had been a desolate existence, one that held no exceptional remembrance or significance. It had consisted of him simply competing in intellect with his brother. Their nanny had left when Sherlock had reached his twelfth year and from then on it had been them, in solitary company, with nothing to their names but a vast fortune and their own minds.

It was a gilded cage Sherlock had never been fully capable of leaving behind. The bars had been solid gold and glistening and even to his drug addled brain, the bars stuck. The years gave way and the cage had turned to obsidian iron wrought bars. He had attempted, more than he had cared to admit, but the moment he stuck his head through the bars, he was suffocated, choked, restrained. The downside had been that living in a gilded cage had never taught him to interact through other people. His social skills, when he had finally been introduced to society, had been appalling. It had shamed Mycroft and therefore their family name.

Sherlock distinctly remembered spending the five years before his twentieth year sitting in his room, studying the sciences and looking out the window of his bedroom. Those years had been spent watching the fields of their rural estate, watching the birds that landed on their sills, watching the animals that roamed, watching things move freely. So badly had it been his desire to leave, to break away and find something he had so longed for.

His twentieth year came and that was the year his brother had diagnosed him as being “touched”. Although he had proved to be intelligent beyond the norm, it was the excuse Mycroft had used when his behaviour was more than appalling.

Sherlock ran to London, wandering the streets just like the wolves had, outside of Sussex in the countryside. He was found, but did not return. He built his life in London, breaking the wrought iron bars of his cage, learning to fly with broken wings. Those broken wings, weighed down by the pressures of life, and brilliance, and loneliness, they slowly healed. They healed, but the loneliness had stayed. When John Watson had come to him, inexplicably through the words of a friend, they had changed each other. It had been a protracted change, one made of combined parts and life changing incidents. And then John Watson had courted Mary Morstan, and had married her, and they had a child. A beautiful child that Sherlock could find no fault in. He had tried, desperately, in any case, to despise Morstan but found it difficult. They had named him the godfather, and Sherlock Holmes had never been so honored by asinine titles than to be given the role of godfather.

Those months in between John Watson and Molly Hooper had been somewhat droll. They had consisted of his individual work, learning what it meant to be broken free from a cage but not yet having someone with which to share that freedom. His violin played in the dead of night, playing a song that reminded Mrs. Hudson of what a burden freedom could be.

When Sherlock Holmes met Molly Hooper it had been the most transformative experience he was sure he would ever have. It had been an incident that stretched over nine years, a decade of slowly permuting whatever feelings Sherlock Holmes did or did not have. It had held a certain ease that Sherlock had never quite understood. Things had been much more simple in his head, much more brighter, easier. The closets and corridors and rooms and gardens and memories, he knew it all by heart, even with it only existing in his mind. The place only he knew in his mind, the brilliant mind palace where Molly had tinted everything, had permeated everything and had infected his mind in the kindest of ways. How easy it had been to fall in love with the cascade of brown hair that fell gracelessly over shoulders, and children he barely knew, and a home that had felt more welcoming than the estate he had called home for twenty years. Sherlock Holmes believed it had been the consistent variable of Molly Hooper. Her air was infectious, it was subtle, and above all, it was kind. It was a pure category of kindness that Sherlock Holmes had never been exposed to and he had encouraged it with ardor.

When Molly Hooper had refused his proposal the first time he had been substantially hurt. It had hurt to find that someone he so adamantly admired had refused his advances. He had respected her wished of course, he had stepped away and given her time until his next proposal. He understood that in Molly Hooper’s case no had meant no, and he wished to honor that. He wanted for nothing more than for Molly Hooper to accept his proposal with all honor afforded to women with a personality such as hers. Never had he been so patient and understanding. It was beyond frustrating.  But he found that it had been worth it. Which is how he had ended up buying a plot of land, of garden space, in central London.

He walked beside Molly Hooper, watching anxiously, contemplating whether it was in his best interests to show her the space he had designed specifically to embody all those thoughts of Molly Hooper that had taken to keeping permanent residence in his mind palace and occupying a very large part of it.

She smiled at him. “I must say, Mr. Holmes. I have never seen you look so very anxious.”

They reached the wrought iron gates and Sherlock could not bypass the irony of the situation. But he simply stood before it, the entire space shrouded by shrubbery and the looming gates of the garden. The key felt heavy in his hand.

He turned to her, a nervousness he had never quite experienced before. It fell past terror, past fear, and into another realm of excitement mixed with anxiety. “I want to show you something. Something that might help you understand why it is so important to me that you marry me.”

She saw the way he had regarded her and for some reason she felt inclined to believe him. There was an earnest nervousness in his eyes she had never experienced. “What is it?”

Instead of speaking he simply opened the gates. They swung open ceremoniously adn there was an intake of breath besides him. The garden was lined with marble as a trail wound through the garden. There were hyacinths, roses, daisies, dahliahs, budding tulips, and sunflowers that reached a full head above her, radiating from the glimmer of sun that had been present for the day.

“Sherlock, this is. . . Beautiful. Am I dreaming? What is this?” She said as she touched the roses that twined through the bars of the entrance and above them to create a canopy of flowers.

He glanced at it, then back at her, honest admiration in his eyes. “It’s my mind palace. Or, well, the only place in my mind palace that has much significance to me.”

“Why did you do this?” She said, turning to him from across the garden where she had begun to roam, to look at all the flowers she had never seen before in all her years.

He wanted to confess that it was the garden in his mind palace where he went to talk to her. He wished he could divulge that he thought it made her beautiful, to stand among flowers and still be the most breath taking thing he had seen in all the places he had traveled. It was his ultimate desire to tell her that he loved that she had been the exception to a manufactured image of the women of their society. But saying those things was too difficult, too much air choked the words and stifled them.

Instead he said simply, “Because I want you to have somewhere only we know. Only the two of us and this. You must understand that I only ever wanted that.”

“Somewhere only we know.” She whispered as she smiled at the flowers that climbed the walls of the garden.

**  
  
**


End file.
